


Stockings

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 05:00:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An accidental Christmas ficlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stockings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [After_Baker_Street](https://archiveofourown.org/users/After_Baker_Street/gifts).



Sherlock hasn’t cared to give anyone gifts in a very long time.

Something in the air reminds him of this. Nothing so obvious as restaurants wrapping their facades in strings of fairylights, or even Mrs Hudson changing out her hand-soap from lavender to cinnamon. It’s unimportant what it is, but he’s filled with hazy recollections of long since deleted traditions. All the month of December he squirrels away small gifts. A more commanding tie. A serrated titanium card meant to be a pocket saw. Three tubes of the lipbalm John is always losing. When John is helping Mrs. Hudson bring in groceries the afternoon of the 24th, Sherlock slips away to the upstairs room and stuffs each and every sock in the drawer with these little tokens. He returns to the living space, and dashes the kitchen floor with a spill of water before affecting his most unassuming manner on the couch. John returns shortly, and toes off his boots.

"Tea?" suggests Sherlock, directing John towards his trap.

"Sure- augh!" John lets lose at least three exasperated sighs as he squishes wet-socked through putting on the kettle. While it boils he stomps upstairs to refresh.

Sherlock masters his expression of smug glee before John pads back into the sitting room. He has a pair of socks in one hand and a tiny box in the other.

"Sentiment," he says dryly, an impression of Sherlock, but drops on top of him on the couch all the same. He burrows his still unsocked feet between the cushions, knees astride Sherlock’s, matched against him, chest to chest before he drops several kisses on Sherlock’s mouth agape in feigned offense.

"I’d cram this in your socks, too- but you might kill me for upsetting The Index," John explains. He offers the little box, placing it just above bone and heart. Sherlock snaps it open.

“I didn’t expect you to do anything about Christmas. I was..going to wait to New Years, you see. To-”

“ _Ring_ it in?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”


End file.
